The Importance of Being Sgt Siler's Wrench
by Sini
Summary: Siler's wrench is missing and he has to go looking for it. Features Siler, Walter, Major Davis, O'Neill, Daniel and Doctor Fraiser. Don't take this too seriously... all in good fun.


**Disclaimer: Don't own anything really… 'cept for some wacky ideas for odd fanfics.**** Even the title of this story is Oscar Wilde's.**

Timeline: Doesn't make much of a difference, since this isn't connected to any specific events in the series. Features minor characters Doctor Jay Felger, Sgt. Walter Harriman, Major Paul Davis and obviously Sgt. Sylvester Siler, but also Daniel, O'Neill and Doctor Fraiser, with mentions of General Hammond and Major Carter.

This fic is not to be taken seriously, all in (hopefully) good fun… because the minor characters deserve a story or too as well, and I'm pretty sure this "plot" hasn't been done before.

Sorry for any mistakes.

* * *

**The Importance of Being Sgt. Siler's Wrench**

Sparks were flying past Sergeant Sylvester Siler's head as he welded the last bits of wire together. His uneventful day had consisted of repairing the electrical wiring of Doctor Felger's lab after he had inadvertently fried them during an unsanctioned "experiment on the side" which could have solved the problem of toasters that either burn the toast or merely warm them enough to keep your fingers warm for fifteen seconds. Turns out his new supertoaster, Crunchy Crisp 4000, was a bit too super for everyone's liking. He could practically hear Jay's rapid heartbeat all the way from General Hammond's office.

While his day might have been uneventful, it was certainly better than that of Doctor Felger, so he contently took out a screwdriver and put the protective metal casing back over the hole in the wall. He noticed a bolt was loose on a rig lying on the table, so he figured he would tighten it while he was there.

As Siler reached for the adjustable wrench, usually not more than an arm's length away, all he found was air. Lots of it. In a matter of microseconds his eyes narrowed into slits and his face turned into an undeniably unattractive shade of red. He looked around the room and tried to locate the piece of stainless steel, but found nothing. Letting out an annoyed puff of air he collected all his things and stomped out of the lab.

* * *

It had been an hour since Siler noticed the absence of his trusted wrench, fifty minutes since he had noted it was not anywhere in the storage where he kept most of his tools, and twenty minutes since he had almost punched Daniel for asking if he could come and fix his table. Apparently the weight of the small library he had accumulated had taken its toll and the desk was tilting to the left side.

He made his way around the base, checking all the places where he had been that day. He remembered using the wrench early in the morning when he was helping out in the labs, which narrowed the number places a little, but not nearly enough. Whose idea was it to make the SGC so big anyway? It seemed the corridors took up half the space.

When he entered the elevator he was met by a cheerful Colonel O'Neill.

"Siler," he greeted as the Sergeant reached for the floor button. "How's it going?"

The muscles in Siler's face constricted and despite the effort not too, he ended up glaring at the wall.

"Same old, same old, then?"

Siler grunted before answering. "Sorry, sir. It seems someone has taken the liberty to borrow my tools without asking."

"Ah! That explains it," O'Neill reasoned, "I get pissed too if someone steals my yoyo."

"Sir, with respect, I need my wrench to do my job."

"I need my yoyo to do _my_ job. Otherwise one of Daniel's little lectures might kill me… And I'm no good if I'm dead," O'Neill countered and rested his arm against the wall of the elevator, "At least most of the time."

After a moment's silence Siler spoke again. "You make a good point, sir."

The elevator came to a stop and Siler exited, leaving Colonel O'Neill to keep himself company.

* * *

Siler tapped a few times on Walter Harriman's shoulder, making the technician turn his head around.

"Hey, Sly," Walter greeted and twirled his chair around to face him, "What's up?"

"Have you seen my wrench?" Siler asked blatantly.

"The giant one? I borrowed it earlier this morning," Walter instantly admitted having noticed the sharp edge of the words.

"Why?" Siler asked, hoping he had found his loyal steel companion.

"Ehm, you remember how you adjusted the chair to help with my back problems," he explained, gesturing at the chair he was occupying, "And you added this mechanism that allows me to tilt the back of the chair," he continued and Siler nodded, "Well, the nut came loose and I had 7 more hours to go, couldn't find you anywhere either, so I decided to fix it myself. Works like a charm… Thanks again."

Siler's knuckles had turned whiter as Walter had continued speaking. He drew in a deep breath before speaking.

"And where did you put it?" he questioned the slightly pale technician.

Walter backed away on his chair until he collided with the edge of the control panel. "I… I, well, you see, Major Davis was having trouble with his bike so he asked if he could borrow –"

Walter never got to finish sentence, but instead watched as Siler practically ran out the door. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and turned to face the Stargate again.

"That might've been a bad move…"

* * *

Once the increasingly irate Sergeant left the control room, a constant growl was emanating from his throat. He paced the corridor with long, heavy steps, and for the second time that day crossed paths with one Colonel O'Neill. Siler's annoyed mind briefly wondered if the man did anything but walk around and appeared to look like he was headed somewhere.

"Still no luck?" the man asked innocently.

"None, sir," Siler replied, before continuing to growl slightly louder, as if the thing that was twisting his guts had just tightened its grip. This did not help the redness either.

* * *

Siler found Major Davis sitting in the briefing room eating a sandwich, shifting documents from one pile to another. The swift of air that followed in Siler's wake blew a lone sheet of paper to the ground. When Major Davis reached for the rogue sheet he stopped midway as he saw the fuming Sergeant.

"Siler?"

"Major… Paul. What did you do with my wrench?"

"Oh! Yeah, the oversized wrench. I gave it to Daniel. Apparently his desk is falling apart," Paul said, picked up the paper, and took a bite of his sandwich, "Must be cos of all the books and relics he's got down there."

Siler clenched his teeth and angrily crossed his arms across his chest. The lovely uneventful day was turning into a toolbox nightmare.

"Or it could be that his desk's just too old… I dunno."

The obliviousness of his so-called friend Paul Davis was grating Siler's nerves as fast as a grizzly could make his damn sandwich disappear.

"Why did you need it for? Daniel said something about your bike…" Siler said, still thoroughly annoyed, but learning new ways to contain it.

"Oh yeah, I was cycling away this morning, on my way to work, when all of a sudden the tire came loose, would you believe it! So I was standing there in the middle of the street, but luckily Major Carter happened to drive by and gave me a lift. It's all fixed now."

"How exactly does a tire come loose while you're driving?"

"I guess it's just "one of those things", you know."

"No, I don't," Siler declared and took the pathetic excuse for a sandwich from Paul and stuffed it in his mouth and resumed his search for the missing tool.

Paul stared at his retreating back for a moment and shrugged – Siler had always been a bit of a mystery to him anyway.

* * *

Just as Siler rounded the corner to Daniel's lab he saw Colonel O'Neill walk out of said room. This was getting ridiculous. This time the Colonel stayed quiet and only eyed Siler suspiciously. They only exchanged small nods as passed each other. Colonel O'Neill thought he probably should have warned Siler about the state of Daniel and his lab.

* * *

Siler was about to step inside Daniel's fortress of ancient knowledge, and look around the room to try to spot the archeologist-turned-repairman, when there was a crash. He took a few quick strides and found Daniel supporting one of the table legs with a pained expression, and there were books and one shattered statue on the ground around the desk.

"Help!" he called from his position near the floor.

Siler glanced around and saw his wrench on another table. His mood was improved instantly, not perfectly, but considerably. He grabbed it and moved next to Daniel and together they fixed his misbehaving desk.

With the leg of the desk now firmly screwed back into place, Daniel stood up.

"Thanks, Siler. Sorry for all the trouble," Daniel offered as an apology.

Siler leaned against the table he had found his wrench on and sighed.

"I just wish people would stop borrowing my things without asking."

Daniel grimaced ever so slightly, "Yeah, sorry about that… Won't happen again," he promised and dropped a stack of journals and books he had collected from the floor next to Siler. The other high piles of various publications collapsed, creating an avalanche of history to descend onto the linguist. Daniel tried to stop the disorder, but instead managed to, rather ironically, hit Siler with Noam Chomsky's _Cartesian Linguistics_, which caused the Sergeant to loose his balance, squash his arm against the edge of the table, be covered in journals, and promptly black out.

* * *

Doctor Fraiser was examining Siler's head and arm as he sat on the edge of the infirmary bed. He could feel a big bump emerging, and for some reason he was hearing a steam engine traveling inside his brain, probably using the synapses as fuel. Thankfully, General Hammond had given him excellent insurance for work-related accidents. The insurance people must absolutely hate him. Maybe they have a darts board with a picture of the devil and his name over it on their wall.

He closed his eyes abruptly when the good Doctor applied pressure on his left arm. Daniel's lab was a mine field. Because of the sheer number of texts, guides, and artifacts, everything was arranged in what he called controlled order in limited space – others called it chaos. He only remembered getting whacked up the side of the head with a book.

"You have a concussion again, Sylvester. Your arm isn't broken, but I'd advise you to wear a sling for a couple of days," said Janet and gave him an ice pack to hold against his head.

"I'll be staying the night then," Siler concluded. He'd had enough concussions to know what followed.

"Without a doubt," Janet said and pat him gently on the shoulder. Siler nodded and adjusted his glasses, the dizziness affecting his vision. Janet offered him a smile and turned to leave.

"I'll be back later."

* * *

When Janet returned she found Siler fast asleep. It was no wonder; the man had had a trying day. She let out a laugh when she noticed the toolbox next to his bed with his favorite wrench resting on top of it. Daniel had come by earlier and apologized profusely for the entire mess, in particular the incident in his lab. Major Davis and Sergeant Harriman had also dropped by to see him, and Colonel O'Neill had brought him a yoyo from his ever expanding collection.

There was a post-it note on the floor and Janet went to pick it up and smiled at the words.

'_We're sorry for everything, will pay for dinner and drinks once you're discharged from the infirmary. _

– _Your friends' _

Janet stuck the note on the toolbox and flicked off the lights. Who knew how important one Sergeant and his wrench could be.

* * *

Hope you liked it. Now I really want to write a story called 'Sgt. Siler's Lonely Hearts Club Band', hehe. Maybe sometime.


End file.
